FullReads

“Tell us about it!” said the wife.”Miss Wrexall, youtell us what it’s about.”

She turned on her chair, and fixed the little secretary.

“I’m afraid”–Miss Wrexall squirmed–“I haven’t got it very clearly myself, yet.”

“Oh, go along! Tell us what you havegot then!”

Miss Wrexall sat dumb and very vexed. She felt she was being baited. She looked at the blue pleatings of her skirt.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” she said.

“Why are you afraid you can’t? You’re so verycompetent. I’m sure you’ve got it all at your finger-ends. I expect you write a good deal of Mr. Gee’s books for him, really. He gives you the hint, and you fill it all in. Isn’t that how you do it?” She spoke ironically, and as if she were teasing a child. And then she glanced down at the fine pleatings of her own blue skirt, very fine and expensive.

“Of course you’re not speaking seriously?” said Miss Wrexall, rising on her mettle.

“Of course I am! I’ve suspected for a long time–at least, for some time–that you write a good deal of Mr. Gee’s books for him, from his hints.”

It was said in a tone of raillery, but it was cruel.

“I should be terribly flattered,” said Miss Wrexall, straightening herself, “if I didn’t know you were only trying to make me feel a fool.”

“Make you feel a fool? My dear child!–why, nothing could be farther from me! You’re twice as clever, and a million times as competent as I am. Why, my dear child, I’ve the greatest admiration for you! I wouldn’t do what you do, not for all the pearls in India. I couldn’tanyhow–“

Miss Wrexall closed up and was silent.

“Do you mean to say my books read as if–” he began, rearing up and speaking in a harrowed voice.

“I do!” said the wife.”Justas if Miss Wrexall had written them from your hints. I honestlythought she did–when you were too busy–“

“How very clever of you!” he said.

“Very!” she said.”Especially if I was wrong!”

“Which you were,” he said.

“How very extraordinary!” she cried.”Well, I am once more mistaken!”

There was a complete pause.

It was broken by Miss Wrexall, who was nervously twisting her fingers.

“You want to spoil what there is between me and him, I can see that,” she said bitterly.

“My dear, but what isthere between you and him?” asked the wife.

“I was happyworking with him, working for him! I was happyworking for him!” cried Miss Wrexall, tears of indignant anger and chagrin in her eyes.

“My dear child!” cried the wife, with simulated excitement, “go onbeing happy working with him, go on being happy while you can! If it makes you happy, why then, enjoy it! Of course! Do you think I’d be so cruel as to want to take it away from you?–working with him? Ican’t do shorthand and typewriting and double-entrance book-keeping, or whatever it’s called. I tell you, I’m utterly incompetent. I never earn anything. I’m the parasite of the British oak, like the mistletoe. The blue bird doesn’t flutter round my feet. Perhaps they’re too big and trampling.”

She looked down at her expensive shoes.

“If I didhave a word of criticism to offer,” she said turning to her husband, “it would be to you, Cameron, for taking so much from her and giving her nothing.”

“But he gives me everything, everything!” cried Miss Wrexall.”He gives me everything!”

“What do you mean by everything?” said the wife, turning on her sternly.

Miss Wrexall pulled up short. There was a snap in the air, and a change of currents.

“I mean nothing that youneed begrudge me,” said the little secretary rather haughtily.”I’ve never made myself cheap.”

There was a blank pause.

“My God!” said the wife.”You don’t call that being cheap? Why, I should say you got nothing out of him at all, you only give! And if you don’t call that making yourself cheap–my God!”